What Happens at Camp
by LyricOcean
Summary: After being caught on a reckless night out, Victoria Chase is sentenced to a fate worse than death: summer camp. She naturally isn't happy about this, and resolves to get herself fired as fast as humanly possible. However, things get complicated when her co-counselor, Max Caulfield, catches on to the plan and tries to stop her.
1. Damn Street Lamp

The real moment I fucked up was when I crashed the car into a street lamp.

I'd been hanging out with some friends, hitting a bong and blaring Bubblegum Bitch on the stereo, having the time of my life. The night was like a ripened mauve plum stretching out across the galaxy. All I could smell was dope. School was such a drag that day, I can remember, especially with my algebra teacher riding my ass last period. Nag nag nag. I _always_ get good grades, at least in subjects that aren't algebra. Which I'll never need anyway. I think I remember sprouting this exact same spiel to Taylor and Courtney, actually, who were sitting in the back seat just giggling at everything I said. " _Oh my god, you're so funny, Victoria!"_ Taylor kept telling me, then howling like a banshee. They'd been drinking, I could tell from their slurred speech, but I didn't care. I'd had a few shots myself but unlike them I could hold it.

Nathan, in the shotgun seat next to me, was on something else entirely. He was jiggling his leg up and down furiously, fingers strumming, occasionally scratching phantom itches and twitching his head. I thought it was probably coke, way too much coke at that, and I was secretly jealous that he knew where to get it when I didn't. But I never knew for sure since I never asked. Nathan scared me sometimes. Say something wrong and he'd just look at you, eyes light blue like robin's eggs, eyes that always seemed completely sober even when his body was twitching around him. He'd say absolutely nothing and just wait, and then I'd have to apologise. After a further pause the conversation would continue like nothing happened. I'm not easily spooked, and don't get me wrong, I love Nathan, but the boy's wild.

So I guess I was thinking about that as I was watching him twitch, and Courtney was screaming about something in the back, and my girl Marina was singing about her liquor liquor lips. I was feeling really chilled out, my hands all bubbly. Tripping out. Like I said, everything was totally fine until I hit the damn street lamp. But I did hit the damn street lamp, and the entire car jolted. Taylor and Courtney fell forward in the backseat because they're basic bitches who never wear seat belts. I screamed, we all screamed. It was pretty shitty.

"The fuck, Vic?" Nathan stammered, after we took a moment to breathe. His hair, short and blonde like mine, was all tostled from the jolt. When I first cut my hair short, apart from the lesbian rumours, there were people who said I did it to match Nate. I shut that shit down faster than a priest at a strip club.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say. My head was heavy, my body leaned against the side door. Taylor was talking about how I could sneak the car home, get it repaired without my parents finding out, when we saw the flashing red and blue in the rear view mirror. I learned another word then. That word was,

"Busted."

* * *

My Dad has a look the magazines describe as 'violently handsome'. In his earlier days, before he owned the art gallery, he modelled part time and could have made it full time if he'd wanted. He's a combination of amber eyes and flawless olive skin, thick black hair and well maintained beard, a jawline to kill for. Though he's well into his thirties he still somehow kept the body of his nineteen year old quarterback self. Image is everything to him. As he's explained. Over and over again.

I can tell by the way he's sitting that he's still mad at me. He's rigid like an automation, suit impeccable. Gripping the steering wheel evenly. I don't say anything. He doesn't want to hear my voice anyway. It's not that we have nothing left to say to each other, because I know he does - he was absolutely furious when he found out about the car, not about the repairs or the dope but because " _What will people think of us now?"_ He spent an hour lecturing me on that. I lay sprawled on my bed like a starfish. My mother, with her icy emerald eyes, just stood there watching me. She does a lot of that.

"Victoria. Do they have wifi there?" Dad asks suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts. He doesn't take his eyes off the forest-swallowed road.

"I don't know," I mutter, mad at my heart for beating so fast. "Probably not."

"Take lots of pictures when you get there. Good pictures. Put them on your Instagram so the family can see." It's not a suggestion. He scratches his beard with his index finger, still not looking at me.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to be having fun."

"You're not. But you need to look like you are. Everyone likes a girl who's good with kids."

I scoff, checking my makeup on my phone so I don't have to look anywhere else. Victoria Chase: brought to you by Chanel. "I don't like children. You know that."

He doesn't reply. Doesn't care. He was the one who thought of this cruel and unusual punishment in the first place, just because he _knew_ how much I'd hate it. Eight weeks out in Buttfuck Nowhere, babysitting the hellspawn of people I don't care to know, forced to live communally and take lukewarm showers. I tried arguing. Tried pleading. Nothing worked. My parents knew they had me in the bag with this one. And what half-baked camp would turn down a job application with $5,000 in donations attached to it?

"I don't even look good in blue," I add, with a pissed off gesture to the (non-designer!) camp leader shirt I'm forced to wear.

"Victoria, shut up," my father sighs, ending the conversation.

I say nothing as the trees thin out and a lake appears in the distance, a shimmering blue smear on the landscape like spilled 70s eyeshadow. The trees block my vision, and then it appears again, closer. I can see wooden cabins, a smudge of smoke rising up from a minuscule chimney, and before I know it the car has pulled up in the gravel of the front office and I'm staring up at a faded blue and gold sign reading **WELCOME TO CAMP DESBOIS!**

"Out," Dad commands.

I groan and step out to what will be my world for eight weeks.

I think, " _Home, shit home."_


	2. They Walk Among Us

"Max, do you think I'd be a good mom?"

Chloe asks this so suddenly, so out of the blue, that I end up laughing. She takes this as a no. She's frowning at something on her phone. "Ha. Thanks for the self esteem boost."

"No, I wasn't laughing at you…" I shuffle closer to her on the bed and shove her shoulder lightly. She smirks. "Just… Where did that thought come from?"

"There's camp counsellor jobs going at Desbois." She pronounces the word wrong. Like a group of young gentlemen she'd like to crack open a cold one with. Her fingers go absentmindedly to the back of her neck, scratching at the strands of bright blue hair that hang there. "I could go for it. We could. You could teach the little shits photography, you're good at photos and stuff."

"What does that have to do with being a mom?"

"It's like, a temporary mom." She looks at me for another beat. After a few seconds we both crack up. It's late afternoon and her bedroom is illuminated in an orange glow, which makes her teeth orange as she grins. We've been at her place for a few days now, though when I first came over it was only supposed to be for an afternoon. It must be the power of best friendship and weekends. "No, you're right," Chloe holds her hands up in surrender. "I'm more like a vodka aunt or something."

"Tequila grandma," I add, still laughing.

"What're you trying to say?" Chloe gasps dramatically, shoving me now. "Rude as can be."

"So, are you gonna apply?" I raise my eyebrows. She raises hers back in question. "For the camp."

"Nah. I'd be a hella shitty counsellor."

"No, you'd be good! We could both go. Do you want to apply?" I sit up properly, convincing myself. Chloe just frowns. "I'm not kidding. We need summer jobs anyway." The idea sounds more appealing to me the more I think of it. I've always liked kids. How bad could it be?

Chloe pauses. "Serious?"

"Cereal."

She groans at my lame word pun and thinks for a while. "I mean, Frank owes me. I could totally tell them I babysit his fourteen kids every Saturday or whatever. He's a good bullshitter, he could totally make it convincing."

"So you want to?" I ask, strangely excited.

"Let's be vodka aunts together," Chloe confirms.

We fistbump.

It's as simple as that, really.

* * *

Six weeks later we're rolling up under the WELCOME TO CAMP DESBOIS sign in Chloe's crappy pickup, wearing our blue camp leader shirts and grinning from ear to ear. There's already a group of people gathered at the entrance, and we get a few friendly waves as we pass by.

"I still can't believe we're actually doing this," Chloe gushes as she pulls up in a park. She's a sweaty mess today. Her forehead glistens from both the nerves and the heat, making blue strands of hair stick to her forehead. Catching me studying her, she rolls her eyes. "Stop looking at my sweaty-ass self and get out of the car, Maxipad."

"Yes, Aunt Chloe."

We get out, grab our stuff, and head for the group of people. Someone whoops in welcome. Chloe sticks a hand up in a shaka-brah gesture. From where I'm standing behind her, her head blocks out the sun, making her look like some kind of slender punk burning goddess. My fingers itch to take a picture of the moment. God, I wish I was as cool as her. If I had half as much sex appeal as her I'd die happy… not that my awkward self would know what to do with the attention anyway.

"What's up, my dudes?" Chloe calls, joining the group like she's known them all her life. She's like an excited puppy today. I approach slower, with a shy smile. I'm not the best at people-ing.

"Hey friend!" The first reply comes from a girl with long auburn hair and an angular, almost elvish face. She says this as she totally checks Chloe out.

"Are we all here?" The head of the group asks. I didn't notice her before. She's wearing an official Camp Desbois cap and jacket, her shoulder-length hair blowing around in peroxide blonde waves. She's holding a clipboard. "So this is… Chloe Price and Max Caulfield?" We already know her. She was one of the people who interviewed us. I'm about ninety percent sure her name's Linda.

"Yeah. I'm Chloe," Chloe grunts, her words the verbal equivalent of chucking some trash out. She winks at the auburn haired girl as she says this. That's another thing I envy about Chloe - she's got more game than the Superbowl.

A few names are chucked out at us, Hayden and Kate and Juliet and Mark, but I'm never going to remember them. The auburn haired girl introduces herself as Dana. Chloe grins widely at this.

"Of course," Probably-Linda mutters as she checks our names off the list. "That leaves one more to come. Of course it's her." Whoever she's talking about, she doesn't sound too happy. That strikes me as odd. Why hire someone you don't seem to like?

After a few minutes of banter, during which I'm forced to listen to Chloe blatantly flirting with Dana, we find out who this mystery woman is.

A car rolls up. It's an impeccable black Prius, somehow untainted by the dirt of the forest or the sands of time. Straight off a production line, maybe. Shiny wheels, shiny paintwork, tinted windows. Probably worth more money than I'll ever make in my entire adult life. Shit, it's even got one of those little silver mounted eagles at the front. It's the phrase 'filthy rich' personified… if by personified they meant 'made into a car'.

A man gets out from the driver's seat. I hear a few appreciative noises from the girls, and who could blame them? I'm holding back from making noises myself. The guy looks like he's straight from a catalogue. Pressed black suit, perfect curly dark hair, face of a sculpted marble Greek god. It's a surreal experience. Like watching a movie happening in real life, or seeing a celebrity. Who have I met who's ever been that perfect? No one, that's who.

He opens the passenger door and out steps the next Wonder of Camp Desbois. She's tall, with short blonde hair styled adorably around her face, her Camp shirt clinging effortlessly on a to-die-for frame. As she walks closer, beside the Greek god, more details come into focus: the blossom pattern on her short skirt, the absolute mechanical perfection of her eyeliner, that button nose which looks like it belongs on a doll rather than a human being. I'm a hot mess of interested, possibly mildly turned on, and sceptical. Who are these perfect aliens and why are they here?

"Good afternoon, Melissa!" The Greek god waves at Probably-Linda. God, even the wave is stylised. Are those cuff links silver?

"Mister Chase!" Probably-Not-Linda replies warmly, blushing. She's been in a visibly better mood since he's arrived, though I couldn't in a million years imagine why. "I didn't think you'd come! Leaders, this is Mister Chase. He's one of the sponsors of this camp. He made a large and much appreciated donation recently." The leaders don't give a shit. They're too busy staring at the Greek god, or Blonde Snow White. Or if they're like me, staring at both of them.

"Please, call me Chester." He grins at her boyishly, double dimples faintly showing through his immaculate beard. "I thought I'd stop by and make sure everything was okay. I couldn't have my girl going to summer camp without a proper goodbye, could I?" He says the last part to Manic Pixie Dream Girl beside him, who just smiles.

"Well, please, you're welcome to stay for as long as you like," Definitely-Not-Linda gushes, holding her arms out. The clipboard falls to the ground and Mr Chase bends and picks it up before she can get to it. "I'm sorry, that was so clumsy," Melissa mutters, but Mr Chase just shakes his head.

"Victoria Chase, present," he ticks off the final a lot on the list. "Actually, I'm just here to help with the luggage. Where will she be staying?"

"Oh!" Melissa jolts to attention, flicking back through a few pages on her clipboard. She's so flustered I feel bad for her. "I was just about to get to that. Here's the list of the cabins. There's two leaders to a cabin, and there's nine cabins in total. We'll walk around them all in orientation, but here's the list.." She glances up at us. Making sure we're listening. Chester walks off to the car, presumably to get Victoria's luggage, which seems to calm her slightly. "Okay. Cabin One is Hayden and Zach. Cabin Two is Juliet and Kate. Cabin Three…" she continues her list. Chloe almost explodes my eardrums when she hears she's rooming with Dana in Cabin Four. I'm not religious, but I'm praying for those poor children under their care.

As Melissa continues down the list and my name isn't called out, it's stupid, but I'm getting more and more nervous. Victoria - Chase Junior - also hasn't been called out. It's getting right to the end of the already short list, and damn it, I'm intimidated. I don't want to room with her! What could we possibly have in common? What could I say? 'Hi, I'm sexually attracted to both you and your father, would you like the top bunk or the bottom bunk?'

"And Cabin Nine… Max and Victoria," Melissa finishes. Because the universe hates me and nothing is fair. "That's Max," she adds for Victoria, pointing at me with her pen. I smile at Victoria but she doesn't even look at me. She looks mad about something. Hopefully she's not mad about rooming with me? I can't imagine anything more awkward than that.

"Fuckin' score," Chloe whispers next to me, elbowing me in the ribs. I brush her off.

"Right, off to the cabins!" Melissa chirps, and we all start walking.

I think, _"Home, shit home."_


	3. The First Battle

Aside from my mother's private hospital room when I was a newborn, I have shared a bedroom with exactly three people in the world. Those people are Nathan, Taylor, and Courtney. The same three people I totalled my car with. Every time we've had sleepovers it's been at my house, in the guest bedroom set up for the four of us. Four beds, four people.

My parents initially wanted me to one day share a bed with Nathan - his family's even richer than mine, and he keeps a good public image. My parents' two main priorities. However, as time passed and they realised I wasn't interested, they thankfully laid off, meaning I've never actually shared a bed with anyone.

Sometimes I used to wonder what it would be like, lying next to someone. Their fingers tangled in my hair, or my arm around their waist. Mumbled scraps of conversation in early hours of the morning. Lips on my neck.

I don't think about that anymore.

The girl I'm being forced to share a room with doesn't make eye contact. She unpacks her stuff into her side of the leaders' drawers, shapeless tasteless pieces of material. Does she get all her clothes from a thrift store or something? I see jean shorts, cotton shorts, the yellow Camp Desbois sports shirt, a spare blue Desbois shirt. Some cotton shit with a deer (really, a deer? Is she five years old?) emblazoned on the front. Nothing designer. Nothing tasteful in any way.

I'm officially rooming with a girl who dresses like she's homeless.

And what the fuck is that hairstyle? She's got nice dark brown hair - she must use a nice shampoo at least - but that hairstyle isn't working for her. She looks like she's trying to escape the ghost of a childhood bob cut.

"Um, Victoria, right?" The girl asks nervously. Her eyes flick to mine and then drop to the floor. She's intimidated. She should be.

"Mm?"

"Hi. I'm Max." She pauses for a while, waiting for me to pretend I care what her name is. When she realises I don't, she continues talking. "Uh… I just, um, do you… have a preference for beds?"

I look at her and she wilts. She has pretty blue eyes and eyelashes that don't look fake, but she needs to wear makeup to make them pop. "What?" I ask, measuring out a fair dose of venom in my tone.

"Oh, uh." She's looking around the room for someone to save her, but all there is are six bunk beds and years of neglect. Probably more dust mites than people in Bangkok too. "I just… that's the leader's bunk bed there." She points to the largest of the bunk beds, built into the opposite wall to the rest of the bunks. Her face is going pink. "And um. Do you want the top bunk or the bottom bunk?"

"Are you kidding me? Why would I want to have to climb to reach my bed? Have you seen these shoes?" I roll my eyes. I know I'm mad and I'm taking it out on her but god, she's an easy target. I gesture to my Jimmy Choos, one-inch heels I got specifically for this camp. They look like Roman sandals except they're not fugly. "Do you know how much they cost? Do you even know what brand this is? No, you don't. You don't know _anything."_

"Okay," Max shrugs, chucking her bag (her one single bag) up on to the top bunk. Her lack of reply throws me off. Before I can say something scathing, however, my father returns with the rest of my bags.

"No problems here?" His tone is completely businesslike until he sees there's another person in the room. Putting my bags down on the floor, he extends his hand to her for a handshake, beaming with all the fabricated light of a cheap office lamp. "Chester Chase, pleasure to meet you."

She takes his hand shyly. Of course she finds him attractive. Of course. "Hello. Max. Hey," she stutters like an idiot.

Dad turns back to me, facing away from Max. The look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know, but he talks anyway. "Well, Victoria, I need to be off. I have a client I'm meeting back at the gallery." He fits 'the gallery' into every sentence he can. "I'm sure you'll have the best time at camp. Don't forget to take lots of pictures." He emphasises this last part. Like I'm stupid and won't get the message. Two can play at that game.

"Of course, Dad!" I say, cheerily. "Thank you so much for dropping me off! I'm going to miss you so much! I'll see you in eight weeks!"

He knows I'm being a bitch, but Max is here so he can't say anything else. He waves at the two of us and then disappears out the door.

Finally, I can breathe.

I sit down on my bed, starting to sort my stuff out. My designer, actual fashionable clothes. I'm just getting into my zone when that stupid hipster trash above me decides to start another conversation.

"Are you a photographer?"

I make a disgusted noise. She just won't get the hint, will she? "Yes, I am. I specialise in portraiture. My parents run the Chase Space, it's-"

"Oh, I know the Chase Space!" She interrupts me. She sounds actually excited, which is weird. What kind of game is she trying to play? "I'm a photographer too! Or, least, I'd like to call myself that. One day. That's my main skill I'm teaching the kids, apart from drawing and guitar. Are you teaching photography too?"

I pause. I want to tell her to shut up, but also it's tempting to tell her something else. My grand plan for the summer. Maybe if I do it'll get her to stop pretending we're friends... Fuck it. "I don't plan on being here long enough to teach anything."

She's on her bed above me so I can't see her facial expression, but she sounds unsure when she replies. "Why's that?"

"I'm going to get myself fired." There it is, my master plan. "My friend Nathan is going to pick me up and we're gonna road trip to his family's summer home in California. My dad'll have no way of knowing since I'll take heaps of photos in the first few days and continuously post them over the weeks. So you should probably drop the friendly act. We're not going to get to know each other."

"You're here as a punishment from your father, aren't you?" She says this so casually I'm stunned. How did she…? "He bribed the camp to take you on as a counsellor. Melissa doesn't seem to like you, meaning she probably wouldn't have hired you otherwise. And she... wasn't very subtle about the 'donation'."

"Like you'd know anything about that," I shoot at her. It's my turn to go pink now. Thank god she can't see me, though I can hear her climbing down the rickety-ass ladder. Stupid homeless medieval page boy, prying into all my stuff. "You need to be careful what you say, bitch. I could sue the shit out of you."

Max reaches the ground, clearly uncomfortable but not backing down. She looks into my eyes plainly, and there's a beat where we have a staredown. Of course she has freckles. Of course.

After a moment that feels way too long, she just says "Sure," and starts heading for the door.

Wait. This isn't how this is supposed to work! "Where are you going?" I shoot at her rudely, standing up.

"We're having orientation?" She says, like I just asked something stupid. "Melissa said to meet her in ten minutes?"

Melissa did say that. I can remember her saying that, and now I feel stupid. I settle with making a "Psh" sound and crossing my arms. "Whatever," I mumble.

"Don't get your Jimmy Choos dirty in the mud," she deadpans as a final goodbye, and waves with blue-painted fingernails as she closes the door. I think I catch the end of an eye roll as her face disappears from sight.

I stand there for a while, surrounded by empty beds in the too-hot cabin. The mattresses are a dark green colour, which I find extremely ugly. I can hear birds outside. I'm confused and outraged and humiliated and possibly mildly turned on.

 _What the fuck just happened?_


End file.
